David Dingwall will do whatever it takes to get his shot at stardom. Write a 300-page semi-autobiographical novel titled David. Record a Latin ballad “to reach the Spanish-speaking audience.” He’d even get naked, slide into leopard-skin ball-huggers, stuff his package (allegedly with a chemically sedated gerbil) and ride the pole.

After a season so odious that everybody from die-hard populist Roger Ebert to The New York Times’ A.O. Scott penned editorials about how the sky is falling because their ignorant readers supported dreck like Transformers 2 to the tune of $400 million, might we put this summer of discontent behind us and look forward to more promising autumnal offerings?